


The Recovery Plan

by mznaughty01



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, Recovery, Sex Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 03:32:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3554477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mznaughty01/pseuds/mznaughty01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen opened the door to his apartment and stepped inside. Stopped. Blinked. Then blurted, “I don’t have a problem.”</p><p>Because he knew what this was. It was two in the morning, yet there his parents were, in his dining room. His brothers stood one to each side of them, creating a unified front of Ackles on the far, long side of the wooden dining room table. Christian Kane, his closest friend, was at the head, stance wide with thick arms folded across his chest. Danneel Harris, his pseudo-sister, took up the spot at the foot, directly across from Christian, her expression grim.</p><p>“For fuck’s sake,” Jensen muttered.</p><p>This? Was an intervention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Recovery Plan

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the following prompt at the 2015 Winter SPN Masquerade:
> 
> One of the Js is a recovering sex addict and the other one teases them to the point of relapse. They tease them with frottage, exposing themselves in public, lewd gestures, which turns the other J to goo. Even their sponsor and meetings doesn't help take the edge off. This J is sex on legs and their celibacy is being put through the shredder. Bonus points if the J taunting them doesn't know or doesn't believe in the illness and thought this was the best way to start a relationship, and they begin healing together.
> 
> Many thanks to the prompter!

He could still feel those strong hands on him. One at his hip, the other wrapped around the back of his neck. They’d held him firm in place (head down, back arched) as the thick cock belonging to some dude whose name he never knew and whose face he’d already forgotten fucked into him from behind.

That had been approximately an hour ago and the guy Jensen had banged in a man’s bathroom stall was long gone (quick thanks, no numbers exchanged). The rush of endorphins brought on by the intense orgasm punched out of him were also long gone.

Those phantom hands weren’t.

They _always_ lingered the longest. Shameful reminders all the way home of the anonymous sexual encounters Jensen engaged in. Used to only happen a couple times a week. Now they happened just about every night. Jensen was very acquainted with the bathroom décor of many of the local nighttime establishments.

But now all Jensen wanted was a long, scalding hot shower. To scour the imprint of clutching fingers off his skin and to clean away the semen that leaked out of his ass to make his boxer briefs an uncomfortable, sticky mess. He hadn’t made the guy wear a condom. At the time, he’d only cared about getting that big dick in him, scratching his itch, and not about life threatening repercussions.

He rarely used condoms because he never cared about the repercussions while in the heat of the moment. Caring didn’t come until afterwards. Even then, each clean STD test he received was a permission of sorts to keep doing as he had, consequences be damned.

Jensen opened the door to his apartment and stepped inside. Stopped. Blinked. Then blurted, “I don’t have a problem.”

Because he knew what this was. It was two in the morning, yet there his parents were, in his dining room. His brothers stood one to each side of them, creating a unified front of Ackles on the far, long side of the wooden dining room table. Christian Kane, his closest friend, was at the head, stance wide with thick arms folded across his chest. Danneel Harris, his pseudo-sister, took up the spot at the foot, directly across from Christian, her expression grim.

“For fuck’s sake,” Jensen muttered.

This? Was an intervention.

“You’re right, you don’t have a problem,” Chris agreed, tone hard. “You bypassed problem about two to three years back and hurtled headlong and without a damn right into addiction.”

There it was. That word Jensen never let himself entertain.

And he didn’t entertain it because that’s not what this was. He just...

He just liked having sex, that was all. Anytime he was ready, he could stop. Would stop once he found a meaningful relationship to take care of all his needs, carnal included. Someone to chase away the loneliness at night and to make him feel complete.

“I don’t have—”

“Yes, you do,” Dad said, stopping Jensen’s protest before it could even be fully voiced.

“Jensen.” That was Mom. Sounding broken. Wounded.

Jensen edged backwards, towards the hallway he’d just left. He wanted to run away. To go somewhere else. _Anywhere_ else. To even go hunt down his hook-up from earlier and spend the rest of the night with him, unappealing as that thought was.

But Jensen wasn’t going to flee. This was _his_ apartment, damn it. And he had to be up to start getting ready for work in less than five hours.

That meant his guests would be the ones leaving. Soon.

“Jensen, you’re a sex addict,” Jensen’s younger brother Mitchell said. Just put it all out there.

A sound suspiciously similar to someone choking on their spit came from right behind Jensen. He turned to see his hot, built, new neighbor from around the corner standing there, eyebrows raised. Either on his way to or from the elevator, he’d inadvertently become witness to this most humiliating moment of Jensen’s life. It wasn’t even a conscious decision that had Jensen slamming the door shut right in Jared Padalecki’s too curious, speculative face, just an instant reaction.

No spectators were needed or wanted for this showdown.

*

_I ask my Higher Power to free me from these people, places and things:_

Jensen stared at the words written in the first of the three columns on the light blue paper that was his recovery plan. Really thought about how to answer like he’d been told to do. _Start small_ , the lady who’d led the SCA meeting he’d attended earlier that night had advised, _but be honest. Work your way from there_.

Sexual Compulsives Anonymous.

Was this really his life now? Just past the upper side of thirty, an age when people should definitely have their shit together, yet attending weekly meetings for the foreseeable future geared towards those suffering from addictions?

He didn’t smoke. Only drank socially. Food was just fuel for his body. Drugs were a no go.

Addictions were messy. They interfered with work, made it hard to function. Changed people, most often for the worse. Lives and relationships were destroyed beyond repair.

They were _not_ Jensen’s thing.

 _Except_ , he thought, remembering his mother’s pleas from the other night, the tear tracks on Danneel’s pretty face, Christian’s fisted hands and his father’s and brothers’ concerns for his life, _they apparently were._

Sighing in resignation, Jensen wrote in the first column: _Night clubs and bars_

After thinking about it a few moments more, he added: _Men who are bigger than me, who can dominate me_

Honesty was key here, right? Right. If Jensen was going to do this, and he was (because he _did_ have an addiction to sex, loathe as he was to admit it), he was going to put his all into it. Before everything was said and done, Jensen’s addiction would be his bitch.

*

Luck had been on Jensen’s side for a while. For just over two weeks, he hadn’t been forced to deal with a certain, particular neighbor and the knowledge that said certain, particular neighbor harbored regarding Jensen and his addiction.

Soon to be _former_ addiction. Jensen hadn’t visited any bars or clubs in that same timeframe. Hadn’t let anyone fuck him at all. Hadn’t even fucked his hand. The goal wasn’t to ultimately turn himself into a lifetime celibate, but it was too soon for temptation in any form.

But Lady Luck finally bowed out and took her leave on a Saturday afternoon, while Jensen was out in back of his apartment’s building, disposing of a bag of trash in the compactor. He was just about to round the corner, headed towards the elevators—

When he suddenly found himself pushed into the brick wall, face first.

A big hand worked its way into the short spikes of Jensen’s hair, maintaining enough hold to prevent him from rearing his head backwards and slamming it into his assailant’s jaw. Not that Jensen would have tried that. Actually, there was a good chance that he wouldn’t have tried that at all.

Jensen knew who it was behind him, pressing their bodies tight. He recognized the cologne. It was a favorite of his.

Tom Ford. Oud Wood.

Outside of Jensen himself, that expensive, woodsy scent was only worn by one other person in this complex. A person who was tall and strong. Who could, no doubt, make Jensen bend to his will. Easily.

“Jared,” Jensen gasped. His cock twitched, plumping with interest at the hard length being ground against his ass.

“Yeah. Yeah, you feel it, too, right?” Lips brushed Jensen’s jaw, shaggy hair tickled the side of his neck. “I swear, I’ve wanted you since the day I moved in here. Since the first time I set eyes on you. And I see the way you look at me. _Always_ staring, licking your lips, fucking biting them until they’re all bruised and red and make me want to fuck your mouth ‘til it’s raw, painted white with my come. I _knew_ you wanted me back, fucking _knew_ it, so fuck whatever the hell Chad’s dumb ass was talking about.”

Then Jared was gone, leaving Jensen confused as to who exactly Chad was and what game Jared was playing at, knowing what he knew about Jensen, yet still enticing him to fail like that. Jensen heard Jared’s retreat, but he stayed there with his cheek flat to the sun warmed wall for another few minutes, breathing in and out.

Tried to get his erection and raging libido under control.

He needed...

He needed...

Nothing. He needed nothing. Except to _not_ give in to his craving. Despite this minor setback, Jensen was more determined than ever to kick his addiction in the ass.

*

_The times/situations around which these First Column things most frequently occur:_

Where the first column was for defining the who/what/when/where/how of an addiction, the second was for identifying its triggers.

One method, provided right on the recovery plan as an example, was HALT: Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired. And it was a good one, pretty much captured most of the reasons behind Jensen’s unhealthy behavior.

The “A” didn’t really apply. But the “H” (Jensen had a healthy sexual appetite), the “L” (he hated being alone) and the “T” (he was tired of not having someone to share his life with, wanted and needed someone there to fill in the gaps) certainly did.

What it all boiled down to was Jensen’s incompatibility with the single life warring against, and losing to, his deep seated trust issues. Walking in on the love of his life, the guy he’d been with since freshman year of high school, the guy he’d just known was his forever, deep dicking some noisy twink in their bed had seriously screwed with Jensen.

And, huh, maybe the “A” did actually apply. A lot. Because, five years on, and Jensen was still mad as hell about how his whole life had irrevocably shifted as a result of that night.

 _I don’t like constantly hearing all the happy, cutesy stories about the wives, husbands and significant others of my friends, family and coworkers,_ he wrote in the second column, _only to come home to an empty house myself_

*

Spending a Friday night down in the laundry room wasn’t ideal, but it was more beneficial towards staying on track to reach his goals than how Jensen used to start his weekends (club bathrooms; nameless, faceless fucks; cocks shoved deep in his ass; head banging against stall doors from forceful, punishing thrusts).

Besides, Jensen really was in need of clean clothes. Lack of underwear was the reason he was commando right at that very moment.

Jensen sat slouched in the middle of the dingy couch situated in the corner of the laundry room. Music pumped from his phone into his ear through the one bud he wore as he played game after game of Quiz Up. He was after the title of Champion of Spelling on _R U a gud spellar_.

A shadow fell over Jensen and, without taking his eyes off his phone, he said, “Hey, I’ll be done with the washers in just a few minutes. Cycles almost done.”

All three of the washing machines were currently full of his clothes, which he had no problem owning up to, despite that being a definite no-no according not only to the many signs posted all over the laundry room’s walls, but also the unspoken rules of good neighbor etiquette. It was Friday, so Jensen truly hadn’t expected anyone else other than him to be home doing such mundane chores. The residents of this complex were all young twenty and thirty somethings who worked hard during the week and played harder on the weekends. They lived in an older, but hipster trendyish section of the town. There was always something to do that didn’t require going far, especially on Fridays.

The “No problem, man,” Jensen received in response had him looking up and right into Jared’s face. Jared set his basket of whites down at his feet, then motioned towards the spot next to Jensen. “Mind if I sit while waiting?”

Jensen’s cock was already starting to chub up, just from Jared’s proximity and memories of their last encounter a few days before, but then Jared smiled.

Fuuuck. Life wasn’t fair. Jared had dimples. _Dimples_.

Jensen’s kryptonite.

Oh, how he wanted to lick up and down those long lines bisecting Jared’s cheeks.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” The sweats Jensen wore weren’t doing a thing to hide his erection. As he slid down to one side of the couch, he used a palm to inconspicuously readjust himself.

Jared took up the section Jensen had freed for him, yet managed to also somehow invade Jensen’s personal space with his loose legged sprawl. He wasn’t as close as the day he’d hemmed Jensen up against the wall, but it was a near thing.

And thinking of that incident actually made Jensen glad that Jared was there. So they could talk about how not okay that shit had been.

So, when Jensen opened his mouth, he had every intention of making it clear to Jared that if he ever again tried to use his knowledge of Jensen’s addiction for a repeat of that performance, to not be surprised when Jensen took his ass down to the ground. What came out instead was, “Who’s Chad?”

Because that was obviously what was important here. Obviously.

“My roommate. Squinty blue eyes. Blond. Excels at being an asshole.”

It was the last part that made Jensen chuckle. The description was eerily accurate. Even though he’d never known his name before today, Jensen knew who Chad was. He’d run across him several times, with at least two of those occasions resulting in Jensen wanting to plant his fist in Chad’s face, despite no words being spoken between them at all. “ _He’s_ your roommate?”

“And I apologize for anything he’s said or done to offend you. And if he hasn’t caused offense yet, wait for it.” Tapping a finger against his own ear, Jared asked, “What you listening to?”

“Yellow Ledbetter.” Jensen purposely answered with the name of the song rather than the band. Twenty-five/twenty-six, was the max Jensen was willing to give Jared, so he probably considered bullshit hacks like Nickelback—

“You a Pearl Jam fan, too?” Jared asked, a ridiculous amount of excitement lacing his voice.

“Longer than you.”

The snort Jared let out was full of amusement. “Sure about that?”

“Am I sure I was already rocking out to Pearl Jam back when you probably still thought Kidz Bop was cool? Yeah, pretty damn sure about that.”

Christ, when Jared laughed, _really, really laughed_ , it was with his full body. Dimpled cheeks. Broad shoulders shaking with mirth.

Jensen’s crush instantly got a little bit deeper.

“Cute,” Jared said. “Okay, but since you’re such a self-proclaimed fanboy, I feel it’s only right to test your knowledge.” Voice full and deep, he sang, “ _Sheets of empty canvas, untouched sheets of clay, were laid spread out before me as her body once did_.”

“Is that supposed to be a challenge?” Jensen yanked out his earbud. Shoved it, and his phone, into his pocket. “Seriously?”

“Just starting you off easy.”

“Black.”

Jared leaned in closer, his face inches from Jensen’s. “ _I pull you close, so much to lose knowing that nothing lasts forever._ ”

After clearing his throat, Jensen said, “Beautiful song, but not a very happy one. Feeling maudlin, are we?”

“Stop procrastinating, Ackles. Name it.”

“Sirens.”

“ _There's a light, when my baby's in my arms._ ” One of Jared’s arms snaked around Jensen’s shoulders, pulled them close together. “ _There's a light, when the window shades are drawn._ ”

“Thin Air.”

Jared grinned. “ _And my balls are always bouncing and my ballroom always full._ ” Using his free hand, he cupped Jensen’s crotch. His fingers wrapped around the straining outline of Jensen’s cock, thumb brushing the leaking tip, leaving a dime sized wet spot on the light gray sweats. “ _And everybody comes and comes again_.”

Jensen shot off the couch and out the laundry room. He forwent waiting for the elevator, forwent the risk of Jared following him which would surely end with Jensen dropping his sweats and begging Jared to fuck him deep and hard, and took the five flights of stairs up to his floor instead.

It wasn’t until he was inside his apartment, door closed and locked behind him, that he realized two very important things: (1) He was going to have to go back down to the laundry room, sooner rather than later, to put his clothes into the dryer and (2) Jared was a cheating cheater who cheats.

Those last lyrics hadn’t been from a Pearl Jam number. They were from an AC/DC song.

*

_I ask my Higher Power to free me from these people, places and things:_

_~~Night clubs and bars~~ _

_JARED!!!_

*

The day had been spectacularly shitty. And it was only Wednesday, meaning Jensen had two whole days to go until he could escape from work for the weekend.

He’d had a new asshole ripped into him earlier. It was common sense that missing deadlines was not only unprofessional, but also highly unacceptable. Still, Jensen had mistakenly thought his supervisor would cut him some slack considering that he’d never missed a deadline before and also given that the deadline in question had been a moving fucking target from day one.

_“Have that report done by Friday, Ackles.”_

_“That report we talked about yesterday? Yeah, I need it by Thursday morning, at the latest.”_

_“It better be on my desk in the next hour or you’re going to potentially cost us a big client_.”

Jensen needed to unwind. And the best way he could think to do that was by getting fucked. Not figuratively, like he had at work, but literally as in an intimate meeting between a cock and his ass.

Only, he couldn’t do that anymore.

Or, or could he?

If he got fucked tonight, while it would be with a nameless, faceless somebody, same as it had always been, it wouldn’t be to chase away the ghosts of his past and his loneliness. It would be just for a much needed release. That made it somehow different, right?

But the thought of a nameless, faceless lay made Jensen’s skin itch, disgusted him. He didn’t want that anymore. Didn’t want to be that person at the next SCA meeting who admitted their relapse in front of the whole group and had to listen to the hybrid of carefully worded admonitions mixed with encouragement.

Fuck would that person be Jensen anytime soon.

And really, truly, there was only one specific person Jensen wanted to fuck nowadays. Over and over and over again.

Which, was that any better, really? Considering that he wasn’t in any type of committed relationship with that person? Wasn’t that just, like, the distant cousin of what Jensen normally did?

Two sharp raps on the driver’s side window startled Jensen. Even though his body had wanted to act on autopilot and have him to drive to the nearest club after he’d left work, Jensen had listened to his mind instead and driven home. But he was still in the car out in the lot as he wrestled with the pros and cons of the _should he_ or _shouldn’t he_ argument.

Jensen squinted out into the darkness. Jared stood there, sure smile playing along his lips.

Think of the devil and, poof, he appeared.

When Jensen opened the car door, Jared was forced to step backwards. Then he was right back there where he had been, hands braced on the top of Jensen’s car as he leaned down so that he blocked the sight of everything but himself. They were almost face-to-face.

“Bad day?” Jared asked.

“Understatement,” Jensen answered, head leaned on the headrest, eyes closed to stave off the bitch of a headache he could feel trying to make an appearance. “Just so you know, cheaters never prosper.”

“What?” Jared sounded confused.

Made sense. By the time Jensen had made it back down to the laundry room on Friday night, Jared had been nowhere in sight. Jensen’s clothes had still been there, though, dried and placed into the basket he’d left behind, already all folded up nice and neat for him.

All the specifics of the antics from that night were probably long forgotten by Jared.

“Nothing. Just... just forget I said anything.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jared agreed. “Hey, I know this is kind of forward, so please feel free to tell me to fuck off if this, y’know, if this isn’t okay. But, I don’t know, I mean, correct me if I’m wrong here, but I’m thinking that you might actually be okay with this?”

Eyes popped open, Jensen said, “Huh?”

Then groaned, long and loud. It appeared that Jared’s nearness caused a Pavlovian response in Jensen. He hadn’t even realized that he’d been hard, much less that he’d been massaging himself, until Jared’s hand pushed Jensen’s out the way.

The heat of Jared’s palm seared Jensen’s skin, right through both his slacks and underwear. He pushed up into Jared’s grip, seeking more, more, _more_.

It was right there, his for the taking, that release Jensen so desperately needed.

But he wouldn’t allow himself to _do_ this.

Jensen surged out the car, causing Jared to stumble and almost fall. When he tried to move around Jared, Jared moved right along with him.

“Move,” Jensen breathed out, trying to keep his cool.

Hand stretched out towards Jensen, the same one he’d just used to give Jensen that aborted handjob, Jared cautiously asked, “Jensen?”

“Move, goddamn it! _Move_!” Jensen roared, then shoved Jared out of his way as he stomped past.

“Jensen?”

He’d come too far.

“Jensen!”

He’d come _too_ fucking far to backslide because Jared thought this was all just some big joke.

*

_I want to add to my life in recovery these people, places, and things that give me joy:_

The third column was a simple one for Jensen. It wasn’t so much a case of adding new people to his life so much as spending more time with the people who were already there, the people who’d been there for him through all the ups and downs. Who’d seen him at his worst and cared enough to intervene and stop his destructive behavior before his worst became a death sentence.

Jensen wrote, _Chris and Danneel_

*

A quick glance at the time on the cable box revealed it was too early for Chris to be the one knocking at the door. Chris lived a good twenty minutes out and it had only been ten since he had called to say he was on the way.

Jensen peered through the peephole. Then laid his head on the door and blew out a heavy sigh. It was Saturday. This inevitable confrontation about to go down was _way_ overdue. Several days to be exact.

He swung the door open, then stepped aside to allow Jared room to enter.

“The fuck is your problem?” Jared snarled before the door was even fully closed behind him.

“The fuck is my problem?” And Jensen had had enough. “I should be the one asking _you_ that!”

“Don’t. Don’t try to fucking turn this around on me.” Jared ran a hand through his long hair, pushing the bangs off his face. “I thought—”

“You thought what, Jared? That it would be fun to fuck around with the sex addict? To make him relapse, because, hey, why not, it’s sure to be a fun time for all?”

That got Jared’s attention. “Wait... what?”

If fury could be measured in factors, Jensen’s ratcheted up by at least a ten. “Who’s next on your agenda? An alcoholic? Maybe a drug addict? Planning to hit up the next Weight Watchers meeting?”

“Jensen, I didn’t...” Jared trailed off, looking completely lost. Shocked.

Genuine.

Just like that, Jensen got it. “You honestly didn’t know, did you? But-but how could you _not_? You were there that night, you _heard_.”

“I heard, but—”

“You didn’t believe?”

“Yes, I mean, no.” Jared’s broad shoulders rose up and down in a shrug. “I don’t know, I guess I just didn’t think sexual addition was a _real_ addiction. Because everybody likes sex, right? I mean, who _doesn’t_?”

Deflated, defeated, Jensen said, “Ever liked it so much that you’ve fucked forty to fifty guys in a month or fucked two to three guys in a night, every night for a whole week? Ever liked it so much that you’ve had to give copies of the keys to your apartment to your parents and both of your best friends so that they can come assure themselves you’re still alive whenever you don’t answer your phone because, y’know, one of your many one-night stands might, just might, moonlight as a serial killer on the side or have a jealous cuckolded lover out for blood? Ever liked it so much that they’ve had to use those keys to stage a middle of the night intervention to save you from yourself?”

“Fuck, Jensen, man, I’m sorry. I really am. I took sexual addiction to mean that if I was interested in you, then I just had to be kinkier than all the rest of your past lovers to get your attention.” Both Jared’s face and voice expressed his regret. But there was something else there, too. Mortification, possibly. Disgust, more likely. “Fuck, did I get that all wrong.”

Eyes leveled on a spot just over Jared’s shoulder, so that he wouldn’t be subjected to the revulsion he was sure would be clear to see, Jensen said, “You should go.”

Out of his peripheral, Jensen saw the curt nod Jared gave. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

When Jared walked out the door, so did all of Jensen’s dreams of ever having some type of normal romantic relationship. Normal wasn’t attracted to him apparently. Maybe he’d done some horrendous deeds in a past life and was paying for it during this one.

Maybe he just didn’t deserve normal.

He was still standing next to the door when the next knock sounded a few seconds later. Jensen opened it without first verifying who was out there. What was the point? He’d already reached his low for the day, so whoever it was could only make it go up.

“Hi,” Jared said, tentative, but with a big grin on his face. “So, I’m Jared. Jared Padalecki.” He extended a hand. “I moved into the apartment just around the corner about a month or so ago and I’ve seen you around and I’ve heard that you’ve got some really great taste in music. Uh, wow, this is kinda awkward, huh? But, look, I really would like to get to know you better. I mean, if you’d like that, too, that is.”

Jensen’s chest tightened with an emotion he had very limited dealings with. “I’m Jensen,” he said, shaking Jared’s outstretched hand. “And I think that I would like that. I think that I would like that a lot.”

Hope.

*

_I want to add to my life in recovery these people, places, and things that give me joy:_

_Chris and Danneel and Jared_


End file.
